


Year Walk

by nerdrumple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2019 (Once Upon a Time), Spoopy Woods Tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdrumple/pseuds/nerdrumple
Summary: Belle’s the new librarian in town, and she’s looking for a place to settle down and call her own. But Mr. Gold proves difficult to work with - perhaps participating in an ancient tradition will help her win his favor. Best RSS TEA 2020 :)
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 44
Kudos: 132





	Year Walk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beastlycheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastlycheese/gifts).



> Merry Rumbelle Secret Santa, beastlycheese! Your prompt called for nudity, and well, it's in there.
> 
> Many thanks to Maplesyrup for betaing! Where would I be without you, love?

**One**

“Good morning, Miss French.”

“Good morning, Mr. Gold.”

He took her coat, all smooth charm and calm gentleman. Deep brogue and pressed suit and not a hair out of place, he was nothing of the tyrant the townspeople said he was. _He’s a terror, a force to be reckoned with!_ they insisted, but right now he only seemed a reflection of his shop. Dark and brooding, sure, but also sophisticated, romantic, whimsical. 

Give it a few months, Ruby had said, and you’ll see him for what he really is.

But right now she liked his sharp cheekbones and the lyrical way he spoke, the dips and coos of his voice, easy and inviting with his gentle “How are you this morning, Miss French?” while his long fingers held his back curtain aside for her. Perhaps she was idolizing the man; it was her first time in his shop, after all, and so far the experience was enchanting.

“I assume you’re here about an apartment?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

He hovered just behind, hand on the small of her back as he guided her. She sank into the seat he offered her, opposite of his desk in his back room. A comfy armchair, too comfy, plush and trying to wrap itself around her, and she tried to readjust the slouch it encouraged in her back. He took his own seat across from her at his desk, all slink and shadow as he moved, steepling his hands in front of himself and grinning like it was the only shape his mouth had ever known. Crooked grin, eyes crinkling like she was just the thing he’d always wanted to look at.

“You’ve been here several weeks, but you’ve yet to find accommodations beyond Granny’s Inn. You’re utilizing the Nolan’s shed for storage space and have yet to unpack your furnishings. You’ve been working, quite successfully, as Storybrook’s new librarian since your arrival, and have made no indication you’re going to leave the position. I’m the only landlord in town with decent offerings, and you asked to meet with me this morning. So, I’m left to assume that you’re ready to make your move to Storybrooke permanent, and that you’d like to rent an apartment.”

“An … excellent, and strangely thorough deduction, Mr. Gold.”

A folder sat ready on his desk, and he’d let his fingers glide across it while talking. She’d watched the motion, suddenly aware of how handsome she found him. She coughed away the realization, smoothed her skirt, and refocused herself as he opened the folder. 

“I have a lovely space above the florist, if you don’t mind a daily trudge up and down the stairs. If you’d prefer more privacy, the townhomes on Birch offer some distance from town, and a sleepy set of fellow tenants. If you’d like something more spacious, the units at Hazelwood offer two, three bedrooms,” and he continued on, folder showcasing lovely places, well furnished, well photographed. 

Belle nodded. Nice offerings, nice folder, something he’d probably spent time on the day before. She let him exhibit, let herself ooh and ahh when called for, and waited patiently for him to finish.

He glanced up at her when she hadn’t jumped at any of the properties. “Anything catch your fancy?” he asked.

“Actually, I wanted to meet with you because I had a specific place in mind.”

“Ah,” he said, grin curling deeper, the arch of his brow thrown in. “My apologies. I should have asked if you had a preference already selected. Go ahead.”

She brightened, trying to sit up taller, though Gold’s armchair was about to swallow her whole.

“I wanted to ask about the quarters above the library.”

He hesitated, hands hovering over where he held the folder. His smile disappeared over the beat of several breaths, and Belle swallowed.

He looked away from her, ran a hand across his desk in an errant way, and blinked several times.

“There are no quarters above the library.”

Belle’s brows narrowed, a small knot forming in her gut.

“There … are?” she said slowly. “They’re in the blueprints for the building.”

Gold leaned back in his chair, folder on the desk forgotten. He still had those sharp cheekbones, perfect suit, soft hair arranged just so above his shoulders. But that crooked grin was gone, the playful arch of his brow replaced with a furrow. 

“So you’re aware it’s been sealed off,” Gold said, after an eternity.

“Yes,” she said. “I was actually hoping it could be reopened? I understand if the place needs time to be made ready for a resident. Granny’s Inn has been fine these past few weeks, I won’t mind a few more.”

Another long pause, Gold pursing his lips together, his chair trying to sink her further the longer he didn’t speak.

He stared at her for a long time. An uncomfortable gaze, and she tried not to squirm.

"Ruin," he finally replied, the word quiet and to himself. 

She leaned forward. "What?"

“I’m afraid the space is in shambles, Miss French,” he said. “Hasn’t been suitable for years. Suffered immense water damage, has mold issues. Entirely unsuitable for a resident, and not worth the cost or effort for renovation.”

Belle’s mouth opened, though she couldn’t think of what to say. She looked down at her skirt, smoothed it again though it was wrinkle-free, perfectly taut, perfectly fine.

He was lying. 

She licked her lips with the thought, that feeling in her gut starting to tie over and over in knots, and she hoped her eyes wouldn’t reveal her thinking.

“I honestly don’t mind the cost or effort of renovation. I could contribute, if that’s a concern - ”

“No,” he said, and she bristled.

He brought his arms up, ran his fingers through his hair, looked at her in such a way. 

His hands were shaking.

The door to his shop chimed. He blinked again, eyes darting to the door, then back to her. Relief, if she wasn’t mistaken, was painted across his face.

“That’s unnecessary. And impossible. Put it from your mind,” he said, starting to rise, reaching for the folder and coming around the desk. She fumbled her way out of the chair, the sunken cushion making elegance impossible, and the man probably offered such a cumbersome chair on purpose. Client after client, tenant after tenant, made to feel awkward and stupid with every deal brokered.

“Review these,” he said, one hand holding out the folder, the other holding aside his back curtain. “Let me know if you find anything to your taste.” 

“Mr. Gold,” she started.

“Our time is up, I’m afraid. I have other business to conduct today. Kindly see yourself out.”

So she walked to the library, her head in a daze.

She opened the place for the day, greeted the patrons as they arrived, helped them find books, helped sort their returns. But her mind couldn’t leave his shop, his back room.

He hadn’t been a tyrant, a terror, or a force to be reckoned with. He’d been shaking hands and long pauses, faded smiles and narrowed eyes, making her confused, making her dizzy.

When the day came to a close, Belle shuttered up the library, flipped the closed sign, but couldn’t bring herself to walk home yet. Her temporary home, Granny’s Inn, warm and inviting. Instead she walked up the stairs of the library, up through its narrow hallway until she came to the mysterious door she’d uncovered several days prior. 

The blueprints had said there was a small apartment up here. She could see a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, closets, all clearly detailed and outlined. A perfectly lovely living space, the blueprints suggested, and it was just right here, just through the door! But there was no door, so she’d knocked on the walls until she’d found the appropriate hollow, the appropriate low response that knocked back. _Here_ , the hollow had said, deep and resonating. _You’ve found me. Open me._

She’d clawed at the space, fingers first, feebly, then with the pick-end of a hammer, until there it was! Through the dust of the faded paint and clumsily installed drywall, a door. 

A door!

It was boarded up, of course, but that could be remedied with time. And permission, as Gold would surely give it. Surely. Surely.

But he hadn’t. Running her hand along the boards now, she thought to herself how little sense it made that water would manage to wreak havoc on only one small, particular part of the entire library. The rest of the building was fairly mold-free, as far as she could tell.

_Shambles_ , he’d said, but Belle was good at spotting a lie, even from someone as sophisticated and smooth as Mr. Gold. 

People lied for all kinds of reasons. Hiding nefarious activity, stringing people along one’s preferred path. People lied to avoid punishment, obtain reward, exercise power. Ambition, motivation, secrecy.

Pain, perhaps. Grief.

Belle ran her hands over the boards one last time, sighed, and walked home.  
  


**Two**

November was chilly in Maine.

November in Melbourne had been fine weather for shorts and a t-shirt, but Maine called for coats, wool tights, sturdy boots. She could forgive Maine for its chill, when its forests were so lush with pines and thick green that stood pretty against her breath as she exhaled cold little clouds around her.

How she loved her walks in the forest, how she loved exploring. Storybrooke was quaint, charming, a pretty postcard of a town that she’d been happy to move to. But the forest, oh! It crept at the edges of all the charm, loomed dark and towering above the shops, the houses. 

Mysteries crept inside the forest, and she was busy visiting her favorite one.

The bronze statue, situated too close against a group of trees, its outstretched arms just making it beyond the bark. A woman, nude, mouth closed and eyes hard, a determination in her hands as they reached out beyond the trees. 

Belle held her hand up, mirroring the reach of the statue. She wanted to touch the woman’s hands, understand why on earth such a work of art had been installed out here. But the hardness to the woman’s eyes always held her back. And the ring of trees, hadn’t she read somewhere that she should always beware stepping into a ring of trees?

A howl in the distance, and Belle’s mouth parted. It was early Sunday morning, the sun skimming the trees, and she knew nothing of wolves or what times of day were typical for howling. The path she’d taken up here was a worn one, a common one, and the statue wasn’t that deep into the woods. This was a community path, surely, and did wolves wander so close to town?

Behind, the cracking of twigs made her startle.

“Mr. Gold!”

He was just behind her, on the very path she’d wandered, and she must have been too absorbed to hear his approach.

He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but composed himself quickly enough with a nod of his head.

“I,” she said, huffing out a breath. “Hello. Good morning.”

“I’ve startled you.”

“Yes. Well. Sorry, I thought you were a wolf?”

He smiled, that crooked grin, that one that made him look like he was amused by everything. 

“Did I forget to shave?”

She let out a laugh at that. “You’re very handsome,” she assured.

He paused, grin losing some of its amusement, and she regretted her bluntness. He carried on like she hadn’t spoken. “There are no wolves out here, dearie. I assure you, you’re safe.”

She was tempted to say she was in the presence of a wolf currently, but that felt too much like teasing, and she’d already blundered, and her brows were busy furrowing, because what had she heard earlier, if not a wolf? 

He strode up beside her, joined her in looking upon the statue. The weight of their previous meeting was heavy in the air, no _How are you this morning, Miss French?_ , all his charm and charisma reserved and withdrawn. She hated how awkward she felt around him, now, how awkward he probably felt around her. His _No_ still sat on her shoulders, and the image of the door she’d clawed her way to, boarded up and dusty with drywall, flashed behind her eyes.

She blinked, flexed her fingers.

“I see you’ve found the Year Walker,” he said. Belle ventured a glance at him, and he _was_ handsome, really, in his long wool coat and scarf, sunglasses, leather gloves. He ran his cane along the edge of the tree closest to the statue, and Belle blinked again.

“The Year Walker?” she said.

“There’s a plaque,” he said, walking over to what might have been another small tree or shrub, save for where he parted the leaves and branches that’d overtaken it. Once clear of the overgrowth, yes, she saw, there was a plaque.

He stepped aside, holding an arm out in invitation. Belle tried to ignore her reflection staring back at her from the black of his sunglasses as she joined him.

_The Year Walker_ , the plaque read, and there were other words, but they were worn away and illegible. Even the heading was worn; the only way she’d made sense of it was from hearing him say it at all. 

“What is the Year Walker?” she asked.

He reached down, running a hand over the faded words and frowning. 

“You moved all the way out to Storybrooke without ever hearing the tale of Year Walk?”

“No,” she said, frowning in return.

He rubbed his hands over the faded words again, not looking at her. 

“Clever librarian like you should read up on it. Fascinating tradition.”

Her cheeks colored. “If you know it, I’d like you to tell me.”

And he smiled, very much the wolf she’d feared earlier.

“The founders of Storybrooke had strange, superstitious traditions. Complicated rituals for divination, wish fulfillment. If one wanted to see what the coming year would bring, or shape the year into what you wanted - instill wealth, love, happiness, into your future - one had to spend a night on a Year Walk.”

Belle brought her hand up to the plaque, touching the words where Gold did. He grew still at her nearness, but continued.

“On the dusk of the New Year, one would remove themselves from the festivities of the evening. Fast from food and drink. Strip down, make yourself vulnerable, open. Extinguish all fires, languish in the dark. At the stroke of midnight, start a journey out into the woods. Woods are thin places, you see. Are you aware of thin places?”

Belle shook her head.

“Places,” he said, “where the veil between our world and the divine is more accessible. More transparent, less opaque. Where spirits, as they believed, were more likely to converse with you, teach you. Or gobble you up,” he grinned again, “if you were disrespectful, or undeserving. Too greedy with your wants. But for some, it was worth the risk.”

“So, this woman,” Belle said, nodding back towards the bronze statue, “went on a Year Walk?”

“You see a woman when you look at the Year Walker?”

Belle raised her brows. “Yes? Don’t you?”

They left the plaque, walked back to the statue together. Belle held her fingers up again towards the statue’s outreached hands, Gold watching the motion.

“I see a man,” he said.

Belle reexamined the statue, the curves she thought were breasts, the jawline she considered feminine. It was an abstract statue, to be sure, and she started to second guess herself, realizing the focus of the form was its hard eyes, its arms, its hands, long and reaching. Between the legs and upon the chest were unclear, unimportant, now.

“It’s meant to be ambiguous, I think,” he said. “Either and neither gender. You’re meant to see yourself, most likely, in the statue.”

Belle nodded. “So one had to be … naked? For a Year Walk?”

“Vulnerable,” Gold corrected.

Belle tilted her head at him. “Which means naked.”

He chuckled. “Fine. Yes. It means naked. It was another measure to help you enter the woods, enter a thin place.”

“But … you’d freeze to death, if not get frostbite, for that time of year, wouldn’t you?”

Gold shrugged. “The stories talk more of people going mad from the experience, those who asked for the wrong thing. The statue is here to commemorate the more valiant wishes people asked for. A woman who had lost her son, a man whose wife was sick.”

“Did people actually receive their wishes?”

“The stories say so. Sons returned, wives healed.”

“Worth the risk of exposure,” Belle said absently.

“Yes. And some died, with that risk. But many lived. As recently as the 2000s, actually.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh, recent years of the tradition were nothing like the Year Walk of the founders. Year Walk became more of a … celebration, of the tradition. One member of Storybrooke would volunteer for Year Walk, everyone would get together in town square. A huge party, everyone would cheer them on. They’d make their way up here, to the statue. Make their wishes known, see the future, divination achieved, all that. Whether or not that actually happened, they’d come back down to town square to more cheers. An imitation of Year Walk completed.”

Gold brought his own fingers up, removed his glove, touched the statue’s hand where Belle was too afraid to. Belle watched him, the motion fascinating. 

“It was a huge tourist draw, actually,” Gold continued. “Since giving up Year Walk, the town has suffered financially. We ought to bring it back.”

“Why did the town give it up?”

Gold crinkled his nose, withdrew his hand. “A bit unsavory, don’t you think? Asking one of your own to strip down, wander into the woods, tempt frostbite all while an entire congregation cheers them on. Uncivilized, really. Missing sons are easier to find these days, without having to rely on spirits. Wives are often healed by doctors.”

“So you think Year Walk is silly?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Gold replaced his glove, smoothed his wool coat. They stared at the statue together once more, huffed out cold breath together in the morning air.

“Gold,” Belle started slowly. “The apartment. Above the library.”

He sighed. “I had so hoped to avoid this conversation.”

“I just want to ask: why not?”

“I gave you my reason.”

“But I know it’s not true.”

And he looked at her, bemused.

“We’re alone out here,” Belle said. “You can tell me. Look, if the issue is … sensitive, you can just tell me. If someone, maybe someone … I don’t know, passed away up there, if that’s the case-”

He huffed out a laugh, interrupting her, and Belle was taken aback.

“Sure. Someone died. It’s a sensitive issue. Let’s leave it at that.”

“ … so they didn’t?”

“No, no, they did. Lots of people, actually. The place is horribly haunted.”

She folded her arms. “Why can’t you tell me the real reason?”

But he was shaking his head, turning away from her. Laughing, was he? She felt her anger rising, and reached for his arm.

“Gold,” she said, grasping onto his elbow, and he stopped. Turning to face her abruptly, amusement gone from his face, he palmed the hand that had grabbed him.

“Belle,” he said, and he’d never used her first name before. 

He stepped up close to her, composed again, allowed the cool of his breath to ghost her face. “The answer is no, the reasons are my own. Stop asking.”

And he pulled away, headed back for the trail, the one that led to town square, the one that led him away from her. She sighed, aggravated, and looked about her as if the woods would offer any help. 

Behind her, that statue, its arms reaching. Right towards Gold.

“Wait,” Belle called, and he paused.

“What if I did Year Walk?”

He turned around, eyed her funny. “What if you did what?”

“Year Walk. What if I did Year Walk. For the apartment.”

He turned fully, removing his sunglasses, and walked back up to her. “Year Walk is not to be taken lightly.”

“But I could do it, couldn’t I? Ask for the apartment, in my Year Walk. You could give it to me.”

His brow furrowed, annoyed. “You’d ask for something so frivolous.”

“Your reaction tells me it’s anything but frivolous.”

He chewed his lip. “I fail to see what I’d gain from this.”

Belle hesitated, thinking. “You said it used to be a huge tourist draw. That would help you, wouldn’t it? You could gain … financially, from all that?”

“You’re reaching.”

She huffed, frustrated. “Well there’s respect in it, isn’t there? You could finally take me seriously.”

“Oh, I take you seriously, Miss French. The one not taking this seriously is you,” and he huffed his own frustration, storming away, off down the path, leaving Belle alone with her offer, the woods, the Year Walker.

Belle pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. How worked up she’d gotten just to ask him again! She turned back to the statue, embarrassed that it had witnessed the whole thing.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” she asked wearily. 

A dip of sunlight through the clouds landed through the trees, making the statue look like it had blinked. Belle shook her head, turned, and left.

**Three**

“Do you know anything about the apartment above the library?”

“There’s an apartment above the library?”

“Yeah, and I … have reason to believe something terrible happened up there.”

“Now _that’s_ intriguing. I’ll ask Granny, but no, I’ve never heard anything. And this town loves its ghost stories.”

Belle was at the diner, huddled with Ruby in a booth during the waitress’ lunch break. They were enjoying a late breakfast of pancakes together, watching the occasional snow flake drift by beyond the pale of the window, a string of twinkle lights blinking back at them. Belle had helped Ruby hang them earlier, getting a start on the holiday festivities with Thanksgiving only a few days away.

“Gold’s refusing to rent it out to me. And he was so … I just wondered If there was a known reason for it.”

“He didn’t say?”

“Nope. Especially when I asked.”

“Oh. Well. I don’t know if I’d read too much into that, honestly. Gold’s just cranky. He’s a cranky bastard.” 

“But how much do you really know about him? Does anyone really know? I’d assumed he lost someone, and that’s why he was being so weird about it.”

Ruby gave Belle a long look, plucking up a healthy bite of pancake with her fork. Belle, for her part, pushed her pancakes around in her syrup, too busy thinking to take a bite.

“Well,” Ruby said, “his wife divorced him. He had a terrible falling out with his son, but they reconciled a few years ago, now he visits every Christmas. You’ll probably meet him when he comes into town this year. If having lost someone is what shoved that stick up Gold’s ass, Bae would have told us. He and his dad aren’t besties or anything, but Bae’s usually his number one advocate.”

Belle bit her lip. “When I asked if I could rent it, he was so … I don’t know. Maybe he’s mysterious about everything. I even bumped into him in the woods the other day. By the statue. He told me about Year Walk.”

“Year Walk,” Ruby whistled. “That was a _big_ thing around here when I was a kid. We haven’t had one in … God …”

“Since the 2000s?”

“Yeah. Like 10, 15 years ago or something.”

“Can you explain it to me? He said it used to be a big celebration.”

“Oh yeah, _huge_ celebration. Every New Year’s Eve. Someone would declare themselves the Year Walker, there was a committee and everything, and we’d all gather in town square and see them off on their journey. I mean, it was a ‘journey’ that lasted half an hour or something, but, you know. Someone naked, traipsing in the woods, freezing snow, they’d go to the statue and back. It was a capital T, _Thing_.”

“Then why did it stop? Gold just said some cryptic thing about it being unsavory.”

“Um. Well. Yeah. Regina’s mom was mayor back then, and wanted the town to be more family friendly, I think? Year Walk was all about watching a naked guy head into the woods. Or naked girl,” she smiled, arching a brow. “For some people that’s worse, because sexism. And, you know, people got hurt, some years. The whole thing was kind of spooky, scary. People came back messed up. So, like, sure. Unsavory.”

“But it was never a real Year Walk, right? Didn’t the real one involve walking all night long, conversing with spirits?”

“I mean. The imitation is spooky enough on its own. We were honoring what the founders did, celebrating how they did it, how it worked for them, but it was still asking someone to go into the woods naked, in the cold. Regina’s mom wanted … her goal was to make Storybrooke a big Christmas destination. She wanted us to be the number one Christmas town in America in Country Living magazine or something. Year Walk didn’t really cater to that.”

Belle nodded. The reasons were valid, she supposed. Simple. Nudity, cold, danger. What right had an ancient tradition doing in these modern, enlightened times?

“I think I’m going to do it,” Belle said.

“Hnng?” Ruby said around another bite of pancake.

“I’m going to do Year Walk.”

Ruby coughed on her pancake, having trouble working through the bite, suddenly. Belle handed her her iced tea.

After settling with several gulps and a deep breath, Ruby pushed her plate away, sat back and stared at Belle.

“What are you going to ask for?”

Belle blinked, thought quick. “The apartment,” she said.

Ruby snorted. “Going to use the spirits to stick it to Gold?

Belle chuckled. “I mean. I guess. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Everyone here believes in that sort of thing. You should too. Don’t take it lightly.”

Belle bit her lip. Gold had said the same thing.

“This is. Wow,” Ruby said. “This is awesome. Like, I’m getting really excited. Year Walk. I’ve missed it. The whole town has missed it.”

Belle nodded, not really hearing Ruby, busy lost in her thoughts.

“Belle.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like him?”

Belle laughed, about to shake her head, but found herself growing still. Instead she took a sudden interest in her pancakes, reaching for her fork, though it defied being picked up properly.

“You like him,” Ruby said.

The bell to the diner chimed, and Ariel walked in.

“Hey guys,” Ariel chirped, taking a seat beside Belle. “Sorry I’m late. Work’s been crazy. Did you order for me? What’s up?”

“Belle likes Gold,” Ruby said.

Ariel stared at Belle. Belle blinked.

“But more importantly,” Ruby continued, “Belle’s doing Year Walk.”

Ariel’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, are you serious? Year Walk? Oh my God, we haven’t had a Year Walk in … not since I was a kid!”

Ruby nodded. 

“Well,” Belle said. “I’m not planning on doing it for the whole town-”

“Bringing back Year Walk,” Ariel mused. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. This is just what the town needs. You didn’t order for me, did you?”

“The town _actually_ needs to fix its potholes, but as the mayor’s assistant, you’re hopefully already aware of that,” Ruby said.

“Yes, yes,” Ariel waved. “And Year Walk will help with that!”

“Guys,” Belle said.

“This is just the draw the town needs! The perfect tourist draw!”

“Ariel,” Belle said.

“Oh - what are you going to ask for?” said Ariel.

“That’s what makes it even better,” Ruby said. “She’s doing it for an apartment - this one that Gold won’t rent to her - she’s gonna stick it to Gold.”

“Ruby,” Belle said.

“That makes it _so_ much better,” Ariel said, her eyes alighting. “The town will love that. Belle, you have no idea how perfect this is. I was just in a meeting with Regina, and, ah! This is perfect. I’m sorry, I know I just got here, but I gotta go. See? It’s good you didn’t order for me. I gotta make some calls.” 

“Of course we ordered for you,” Ruby said. “It’s in a to-go box on the counter.”

“Ah! Thank you!” Ariel said, rising, leaving just as quickly as she’d arrived, finding her meal and exiting the diner.

“Like she ever really eats with us anyway,” Ruby said.

“Ru _by_ ,” Belle said, holding up her hands, staring at nothing.

Ruby shrugged. “These are the consequences of having a crush, Belle,” she said, sticking her fork onto Belle’s plate and stealing bites of pancake. “If you really wanted to do Year Walk without the town watching, you should have kept it to yourself.”

**Four**

Within the space of twenty-four hours, the entirety of Storybrooke had somehow become privy to Belle’s intention to do Year Walk.

“This is wonderful,” Granny said as Belle left her room at the inn that morning. “I’ve missed Year Walk.”

“I … yes. Wonderful,” Belle said in return.

“Yeah!” Leroy called from the street corner as Belle made her way to work. “Stick it to Gold!”

“Oh God,” Belle muttered under her breath.

“ _Year Walk_ ,” Dr. Whale hooted as Belle passed the breakfast patrons at the diner.

“Oh _God,_ ” Belle mumbled, picking up her pace.

“Really show the bastard!” another patron said, and she didn’t even know who they were.

“Oh God oh God oh God,” Belle said, trying to hide her face in her scarf.

Huddling in her coat and scarf had little effect, however, as the mayor was now suddenly approaching from around the corner at a brisk pace. Ariel, with the decency to have just a hint of apology on her face, trailed behind.

“Belle French,” Regina said, proud mayoral air, “is it true you’re doing Year Walk?”

The morning had started so well. A gentle swirl of snow out her window, a freshly brewed hot cup of coffee in her hands, the glistening black of the streets. Serene, cozy, pleasant, but now this.

“I. Yes,” Belle said, looking past the mayor at Ariel with narrowed brows. Ariel smiled, and Belle knotted her brows further.

“Fabulous,” Regina said, turning to Ariel. “Run her through the logistics.”

Regina walked away, leaving a beaming Ariel stepping up to Belle.

“What did you do?” Belle said, voice low.

“No, this is great, it really is!” Ariel said.

Ariel spent the next several minutes detailing the city council’s great new plans to relaunch the celebration of Year Walk. The mayor was worried about the limited amount of time to get proper marketing off the ground before the event itself on New Year’s Eve, but Ariel was convinced the words “Year Walk” alone were enough to reignite excitement within the local community (and beyond!) to bring back Storybrooke’s original tourism boom. 

Which necessitated multiple photo opportunities, interviews, billboards, TV spots, radio spots, newspaper columns, magazine articles, social media blasts, etc, etc, etc.

“This is getting entirely out of hand,” Belle said.

“I know, I know, and honestly, it’s only going to get worse. But _please_ , Belle,” Ariel said. “This town could really, really use the tourism.”

“We didn’t make the running for Town & Country’s Best Little Christmas Town in America?”

“Country Home. And no, we’re not even close.” 

“I’m going to be late for work,” Belle groaned.

“You already are. We can chat more at lunch, then?”

“Sure,” Belle said, a frown on her face, the very opposite of Ariel’s wild grin, and finally made her way to the library.

But Belle avoided Ariel at lunch. She headed for the pawn shop instead, ducking away from anyone ready to approach her.

All the other shops on the way to his were decorated in lights, garlands. His shop had its own charm and fit in amongst the rest, but Belle wondered how often Ariel and the mayor had hassled him to decorate; if he’d had any bearing on a magazine’s decision to dismiss the town as not Christmasy enough.

She had little time to appreciate his wares when she entered with the chime of his bells. He looked up from whatever ledger he was writing in, frowning as she dusted off snow from her coat.

“Mr. Gold,” she said.

He regarded her with a lifted chin and expressionless face. “You’re not here to ask a question you already know the answer to, are you?”

“No,” she said, hands fumbling in her pockets. “I just wanted to, um. Give you a head’s up. About Year Walk. Word has gotten out, and now the whole town is apparently planning a whole, um, thing. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“I’m afraid you’ve been beaten to the punch, Miss French. I’ve been told by several townspeople today how excited you are to, now what was the phrase? _Stick it to me_. So rest assured, I’m already aware of the recent developments.” 

Belle winced. “I never said that.”

“Perhaps not. But something tells me you never refuted the sentiment when it was cheered at you.”

She bit at the smile tempting her lips, unable to help herself. “Perhaps not.”

He bit back his own smile, its air of reprimand, and returned his gaze to his ledger.

She stepped forward, but he didn’t lift his head again at her approach. “Maybe it will make you feel better to know that I’m now expected to be the poster child for this whole thing? The mayor and Ariel have already bombarded me with,” and she heaved a heavy sigh, “all these, all these things they want me to do … interviews, pictures ...”

“You don’t blossom in the spotlight?”

“No. God, no. Not at all.”

“Well. That _does_ make me feel a little better.”

She offered him a sorry smile, and he set his pen down. He looked at her, and they shared a quiet moment. 

“I did warn you that Year Walk was a _heavy_ tradition in this town,” he said. “Our residents take it quite seriously.”

“Not for the last twenty years, they didn’t.”

“Fifteen. I checked. All the more reason for them to be terribly excited it’s coming back.”

“And are you excited?”

He scoffed, licking his lips. “Excited isn’t the word I’d use.” 

“I’m not sure it’s the word I’d use either,” Belle said, hearing a commotion outside. She could see Ariel approaching, and offered a hasty goodbye to Gold before rushing out to meet her, too embarrassed for Ariel to bombard her inside his shop.

“There you are! I missed you at lunch,” Ariel said.

Belle offered a paltry smile in apology, and said nothing.

“Hey, so, I wanted to ask you - have you ever been to the Storybrooke Visitor’s Center? Regina said there used to be a ton of Year Walk items and memorabilia there, but it was removed when the celebration stopped. She thinks all the old stuff got stored somewhere in the library. We’d like to reinstall it, so, you know, as the librarian, do you mind …?”

“... finding it all?”

“Yeah.”

Belle smiled again, a real thing this time, relieved the request was so simple. And didn’t yet involve cameras, interviews. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Thanks! This is gonna be awesome!” Ariel called, throwing a thumbs up as she headed away.

Belle tried to return the thumbs up with her own half-hearted attempt a similar gesture, but found herself waving instead. The snow swirled as she huddled into her coat, and heaved another sigh before making her way back to the library.  
  


**Five**

_Årsgång_ was the proper name for it, Year Walk. A Scandivavian custom.

“Ars-gong,” Belle said to herself, gathering the last of the posters and photographs. They hadn’t been terribly hard to find, buried deep in the dusty shelving of the library’s basement, stacked with other blown up photos and framed newspaper clippings from various high points of Storybrooke history. She’d yet to find the boxed up Year Walk items Ariel had asked for, but she was sure she’d find them in time.

It was the books on Year Walk that had caught her attention, distracted her from continuing her search. Årsgång’s folklore varied widely based on what region you were reading up on. Some embarked on Year Walk on Christmas Eve, others New Year’s, but whatever the date, it was always at night. Nearly all variations involved heading for a church or fresh cemetery. The founders of Storybrooke had chosen the woods, its grounds having been an earlier burial site for its first settlers when the town was being built. The statue had been installed over the site.

Not all the traditions involved being naked, much to Belle’s chagrin. Of course Storybrooke would favor striping down for their particular variation on the custom. 

Belle yawned. How long had she been down here? She’d closed up the library hours ago, and she had no indication of when the sun set or the moon rose, as the basement had no hopper windows or window wells. Which couldn’t possibly be up to code. All she had were the small pools of yellow from the weak basement lighting to guide her, and they were no good at telling time.

She huddled under the blanket she’d brought down with her, and situated further into her chair. The pages she landed on now featured pictures of white horses, of beautiful woman with twigs sticking out their backs. Spirits and spooks and ghouls that haunted the woods, taunting the Year Walkers on their journey. The stories were terrifying yet fascinating, and another page or two wouldn’t hurt - she’d be up looking for the boxes in just a moment. 

Yes, another page or two, nothing wrong with that, she’d be up again soon. Soon, soon, yes, soon.

Belle awoke sometime later to a loud _thump_. Her blanket slid off her shoulders as she rose, shaking, clumsy, and she grasped at her nearly-fallen book with frantic, awkward movements.

“Hello?” she said, because those were undoubtedly footsteps approaching. She saw a white horse behind her eyes, a screeching woman.

She stood, grabbing for the blanket and wrapping it around herself, tugging the book to her chest.

“Miss French?” his voice called.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Belle sighed with relief.

Mr. Gold came out from the shadows, handsome as always, cane tapping along with the clack of his steps, furrowed brows finding her and narrowing further with the inspection of her blanket and book.

“I woke you, I take it?”

“You did,” she smiled sheepishly, a little sleep still there. “I must have lost track of the time. Why, um, why are you here?”

“I’d tried stopping by Granny’s Inn first, but you obviously weren’t there. So I came to the library, looking for you upstairs to no avail. Thankfully I’ve found you down here.”

“How’d you get in? I locked up for the night.”

He held up the keys in question, let them jangle. “As landlord, I get the privilege of masters.”

Of course, she nodded, eyeing his hand. Was the key to her upstairs mystery among that set?

He lowered the keys, and he surely hadn’t checked _upstairs_ upstairs for her first, or that soft expression would be a scowl instead, if he’d found the haphazard work she’d done on that mysterious door.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she said, lowering the defense of her blanket.

“It seems I have a part to play in this year’s Year Walk, as well.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. I’ve come to talk to you about it. Shall we go upstairs?”

She turned back to look at the posters she’d rummaged for, the books, and thought of the boxes she had yet to find. 

“I’m not finished down here,” she said.

“Belle, it’s 9 o’clcok.”

She glanced up at him. He’d used her first name, again.

“All right. Can you help me carry some things?”

He glanced at the book she carried, and the others scattered on the desk behind her. The photographs, the posters.

“Research for your upcoming journey?”

“Ariel wants to reinstall all of this,” she said, hand gesturing behind her, “to the Visitor’s Center. But yes, I suppose, the books are for my own research.”

“Not the kind of thing I’d read before bedtime.”

“Is this … you really believe in all this?”

He stepped forward, took a closer look at the pages she’d left open. “The Brook Horse? The Huldra?”

She nodded. 

“Traditions are … regional,” he said. “I’d describe spirits as regional as well. You needn’t fear tales of a horse that drowns children, or a beautiful woman tempting you to murderous marriage in our particular woods.”

“So what should I fear?” she asked, and her face was so pale he found himself frowning.

“I’ll tell you, once we’re safely upstairs, where things are less spooky than a dark basement.”

She smiled, weak, still sleepy. 

“And I’ll help carry whatever you want upstairs.”

“All right,” she said.

They made short work of the posters, the photographs. The books they left downstairs, save for the one she carried. She still had her questions, after all.

But the first one she’d asked still gnawed her. “Why were you looking for me? That you had to come all the way to the library, so late?”

They found a table and cozy spot of chairs to dump their items near the large windows. The moon was up, and she stared after its orb above the shops, the homes of Storybrooke, with a slow blink of her eyes.

“I’ve been asked to be the city council’s liaison for you in all affairs regarding Year Walk.”

“Come again?” she said.

He sighed, wearing that crooked smile she knew so well. “Ariel noted that you weren’t particularly keen on interacting with her, and the mayor and the rest of the city council felt it necessary to bestow all duties of relaying Year Walk to a more … approachable party.”

“And they chose you,” she said flatly.

“I’m as eager for the prospect as you are.”

“But … no offense, but you’re a terrible choice. You’re the one I’m ‘sticking it to’ by even doing Year Walk.”

“None taken. And that fact wasn’t lost on the mayor. I think it only encouraged her decision, something about the story coming full circle. For the articles.”

Belle scoffed, look down at her feet. “I’m sorry.”

“I doubt that.”

“I am. Not about doing Year Walk. But the huge deal this has become - I am sorry, for that.”

They sat in the chairs together, said nothing for a moment. Gold sifted through the posters, the photographs. Some black and white, but plenty in color. A freezing naked person, all smiles and arms up as they began their journey, all frowns and arms folded upon their return. Shivering, shaking, snowy, windy pictures that set Belle’s teeth on edge. Big crowds in every one, making Belle’s teeth set harder.

“Årsgång,” she said.

Gold raised his brows. “ _Osh_ -gong,” he corrected. “It’s pronounced Osh-gong.”

“Osh-gong,” Belle smiled. “So what does being my Årsgång liaison entail?”

Gold tapped a photo with his thumb, ran his other hand over his face.

“None of the _fun_ things you’re so stressed about,” he said, setting the photograph down. “All the interviews and photo opps the mayor and the rest of city council have planned for you. My job is to walk you through the events on New Year’s Eve itself. The actual Year Walk.”

“Okay. So . . .”

He sighed, leaning forward while spreading his legs and centering his cane in front of himself, resting his head on his hands. It was a relaxed move, more casual than she was used to seeing from him, and she swallowed.

“The event will start in town square about 10pm. You’ll need to be there at 9pm for press.”

“Late party.”

“Aye. Much like the one we’re enjoying now,” he said, cocked brow. “There will be music, food, silly trinkets of some kind for sale that Regina has yet to think up. They’re looking for ways to sell tickets, too, though I doubt that will get off the ground. There will be an official tent for you, their poor attempt at sequestering you away from the festivities as the tradition calls for, while still making you an accessible part of the celebration.”

“I don’t get to join the party?”

“Oh, not at all. You’ll be reverently _preparing_ for your walk.”

She sighed. “The no food, no drinks, no lights thing?”

“They’ll fudge on the lights, probably, but yes, no refreshments for you.”

She nodded. “All that’s well and good, but it’s not the … party, I’m worried about. It’s the walk itself.”

His eyes darkened. “On the stroke of midnight, you’ll start your Year Walk.”

“You said something about … regional spooky spirits?”

He licked his lips, leaned further forward on his cane. “Spirits are attracted to a Year Walker. It’s the whole reason you’re going on the Walk. But of course, that doesn’t mean every spirit that approaches is the one you’re seeking.”

“Who am I … seeking?”

“The statue. Just worry about the statue. The hiking trail up to it - that’s your path. Don’t stray, and you should be fine.”

“I won’t be fine at all. I’ll be naked, freezing,” Belle said, gesturing to the photos between them. “This isn’t even a real Year Walk, it’s a, what did you call it? Imitation.”

“It’ll be real enough, dearie.”

“And dangerous,” she said, picking up a photo of a Year Walker being attended to by medics upon their return from the woods. They looked weary, frosted over. 

“You’re not wrong. There will be a heater in your tent, and people on standby to warm you up again the moment you return. But yes. It’s dangerous. Risk of hypothermia is great. I suggest _hurrying_ on your Year Walk.”

“Okay. But tell me what else is out there, besides all that snow and chill.”

“No wolves,” he grinned, in that ridiculously wolfish way.

She tried to return the grin, combat his teasing. “You said you’d tell me.”

He sighed, rubbed his thumb over the top of his cane. “The … past, is in the woods. And the future. You may hear voices that want to talk to you about it.”

“Voices?”

“Hypothermia doesn’t just affect the outer body, but the brain as well. You may find yourself growing sluggish, seeing and hearing things. So, yes. Voices.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll see things as well. Lights, that aren’t lights at all. Don’t follow them. And be wary of …”

“... of what?”

“The imp.”

Belle blinked. “The imp.”

“The imp is a thing of temptation. It will … appear as your desires.” Gold pushed his chin forward. “You’ll read more, in your book there.”

She looked down at the book, the one that had already filled her head with so much wariness and fright. “You’re just trying to scare me,” she said.

“Prepare you,” he said. “As my job as City Council Year Walk Liaison calls for.”

“You’re serious?”

He sighed. “You once said you wished I’d take you more seriously. I’m only asking the same in return.”

Belle grew quiet, nodded.

She picked up a photo again, an old black and white one, taken at the start of the celebration. “Do you really think people will come?”

“To Year Walk?”

“Yeah. Ariel keeps going on and on about the tourism thing, but what if no one comes?”

Gold licked his lips again, his grin wavering. “The minute your picture is featured beside the word ‘naked’ in the paper, I’m sure we’ll draw the crowd Ariel is expecting.”

Belle reddened. “Is that your way of calling me attractive?”

He shrugged. “Just stating a fact.”

“Well. You’re terribly handsome too.”

He leaned back, mouth pursing. He stared at the top of his cane.

“Will you be there?” she asked, after a moment.

“At your tent?” he asked. “No. You’re meant to be alone, remember?”

“I mean, will you be there? To see me Year Walk? Not as … Storybrooke Official Year Walker Liaison whatever, but … as you.”

He was quiet, but smiled, after a time. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dearie.”

He rose to take his leave, and Belle followed, gathering her purse and coat, closing up the library once more. He walked with her on her way to Granny’s Inn, and she relished the holiday lights around them, the greenery, the cheer. The stillness in the air, coupled with the recesses of his cheek hollows when she looked at him. The arch of his brow, the thinness of his mouth, the softness of his hair, and her belly started to grow warm. 

“You really are handsome, you know,” she said, as they approached her temporary home. 

His expression hardened. “That’s the third time you’ve called me handsome.”

“Keeping count?” she asked.

“Stop.”

“Stop?”

“Stop calling me handsome. Stop trying to flatter me.”

Belle bristled, nearly putting her hands on her hips. “I like you. Is that so wrong?” 

He said nothing, looking down at her from his nose, mouth curled in something unreadable.

Belle looked away from him, up towards the inn. They stood silent together, snow swirling around them, the sound of carolers singing something haunting in the distance.

When she looked back at him, his gaze was lost, far away, tired.

“I’ll stop complimenting you,” she said. “If that’s what you really want.”

“It is.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. Goodnight, Miss French. Get some rest. I imagine we’ll have mountains more to talk about in the morning.”

And with that, he turned and left, Belle watching the black of his wool coat disappear into the night.  
  


**Six**

The coming weeks proved to be just as terrible as Ariel promised. Interviews with local press, her picture taken more times than she allowed herself selfies in a year, and sound bites where she never quite managed to conquer the shaking of her voice. 

The same questions over and over. _Where are you from? Why are you doing Year Walk? What are you going to ask for?_

Though the story tried to make it clear that her request regarded an apartment dispute with the local ill-liked landlord, Belle wasn’t allowed to directly answer what she was going to “ask for.”

“We have to retain an air of mystery,” Ariel coached. “You’re not allowed to share what you wish for after blowing out your birthday candles, or it won’t come true. So you’re not allowed to state what you’re asking for with Year Walk.”

“Is that true?” Belle asked Gold later. “If people know what I’m asking for, I won’t receive it?”

“One can only hope. Especially if one is a landlord eager to retain their property.”

And she’d rolled her eyes, laughed. It mattered little to Belle whether or not anyone knew. What grated on her were the constant speculations on her nudity.

_Are you really going to go through with it? Nude! In the freezing cold?_

“That’s the plan,” she’d started to cheekily reply. “Get naked.”

It caused just the kind of laughter that made the mayor smug with satisfaction. Regina knew what the true draw of the event was, and had no qualms exploiting it, all of her push to follow in Mom’s footsteps for a perfect little family friendly Christmas town forgotten.

Her meetings with Regina and Ariel were draining, but her meetings with Gold were pleasant, illuminating, anticipated. He cared as much for the media attention as she did, instead focusing on the walk itself, on the private venture she’d be taking once the clock struck midnight, once she left all of Storybrooke and the reporters and cameras behind and entered the woods.

“Are there previous Year Walkers still around that I could talk to?” she asked. “Get some advice from, tell me how their own Year Walk went?”

Gold had heaved a sigh in response. “I’m sorry, Belle. I don’t know anyone else who can help you except myself.”

And she accepted his answer with a slow nod of the head, accepted the resignation that came from being the only modern Year Walker.

With acceptance sometimes came the need for small revenge, however. As the last of the interviews were over (at least, until the big night itself) Belle found herself escaping to the library. Upstairs with her hammer, picking away her overstimulation, calming her frustration, easing each day of Regina and Ariel and Gold away with the pleasing _clink_ of removed nails.

The boards had proved tricky, painted over the same bluish gray as the library, the nails difficult to find, much less pry out. It had taken the steady patience of weeks to make as much progress as she had. Only a few more boards to go, and her prize would be won, Year Walk and Mr. Gold be damned.

She wiped her brow, dusty from the dry wall she’d picked through. She’d left quite a mess up here despite her best efforts; the already-removed boards in neat, standing piles along the hallway, a bucket to collect all the nails. She’d timed the remaining boards down to one per day until Christmas, and there were only a few more to go.

Only a few. 

Three,

Two, 

One.

Christmas Eve found Belle inching her way outside to the back of Granny’s Inn, through the gate and out to the small community garden shuttered up for the season. She was looking for solitude, for practice, but didn’t want to do so in the actual woods she’d be traipsing in, not where there wasn’t an immediate heat source to duck into when the cold proved to be too much. So the community garden would have to do. 

According to the weather reports, this was about the same temperature she’d be experiencing on New Year’s Eve. Everyone else was busy with family and festivities, so this was the perfect night to practice being nude outside without the risk of jarring anyone or causing a commotion.

Belle held out her hand, collecting a small bit of snow as it fell. She was bundled in wool tights, skirt, blouse, sweater, coat, but where her skin was exposed she already felt the terrible bite of chill and shiver. 

Belle steeled herself, ground her teeth, and removed her coat.

The cold began to seep in immediately. The removal of her sweater and blouse had her skin pebbling, gooseflesh sharp all over her skin, even the parts of her still covered in cloth. She set her clothes in a small pile upon an unused chair under an awning, folding them quickly, not eager to prolong the experiment. 

When down to just her bra up top, she rubbed her hands vigorously up and down her arms, chattering her teeth and shaking her head. She removed her skirt, her boots, her tights, yelping when her bare feet touched the snow. She covered her mouth, biting her tongue and squinting her eyes. She could just barely bring herself to remove her panties. 

By God, it was cold!

She huffed out several breaths, heavy and angry, harsh clouds escaping her. Having curled in on herself, she forced her arms to unfurl, forced her back to straighten, her chest to puff, and stepped out from under the awning. 

Her breasts shuddered with the fill of her lungs, her nipples hardened uncomfortably, her belly drew in with the tightness of her breath. She stood, shaking, in the middle of the snow, the dead plants, the ice. 

She looked up, blinked overhead. The night, the stars, the string lights in the distance from nearby buildings all blinked back at her.

How could anyone possibly do this all night? While wandering, frightened, searching?

With a last close of her eyes and a shuddering sigh, Belle ran back under the awning, not bothering with the rest of her clothes beyond her coat and boots. She zipped herself up to her chin, grabbed her clumsy bundle and ran back inside Granny’s Inn. Sailing through the back door with a bang, she cowered in the hallway and sank down to the floor. 

All those interviews she’d been a part of had painted her as brave. A plucky heroine, daredevil spirit, adventurous wanderer. Things she’d never actually bothered to describe herself as. Each descriptor felt the more false now, the deeper she sank to the floor, the more she struggled to catch her breath.

“Oh, stop it,” she said to herself, pulling herself up from the floor, regathering her clothes. She trudged through the hallways of Granny’s Inn, slowly making her way back up to her room. On the ground floor she passed the large dining area, doing her best not to interrupt the Christmas Eve dinner underway. She couldn’t help but spare a glance, however, when boisterous laughter erupted - she noticed Gold at the table, with a handsome young man of similar features sitting next to him.

Gold’s son, surely. The one Ruby had mentioned, before. 

Belle blinked away the surprise she felt, kept walking. It wouldn’t do to get caught in her coat and boots, still shivering from her poorly planned experiment outside.

“Belle,” his voice said behind her, and she flinched.

“You’re always sneaking up on me, you know that?” she said, turning to face him. The low light of the hallway, away from the golden candlelight of the dining area, made it difficult to see him. He was a dark shadow approaching, slight, slithering.

“I wouldn’t say ‘always,’” he said.

She had to catch her breath when he came into what little light was near her. His dark eyes, watching her. 

“The woods, the library, now the inn,” she said. “That counts as ‘always’ in my book.”

She turned, bumping into the wall awkwardly and dropping her things. He bent down to help her, and in the dark she tried not to mix up her hands with his. Rising together, they were closer than when they began.

“Thank you,” she said somewhere near his neck. “You, um …”

“You’re welcome,” he said, and Belle reddened to see him holding her bra.

“Thank you,” she said again, gathering it up quickly, tucking it under her arm and reddening further.

She couldn’t quite tell, but surely he was grinning.

“You’ve stopped complimenting me,” he said, after a moment.

Belle sucked in a short breath. “You asked me to stop, so I did.”

He nodded, strange smile. “Will you be joining the rest of the dinner party tonight? I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

Belle’s lips parted, staring at him in surprise. 

“Your son,” she said, and he tilted his head.

“Yes. Bae. Have you met him already?”

She shook her head. 

“Get dressed,” he said. “Put that bra back on. Come join us.”

And Belle pushed past him in gentle teasing, gentle embarrassment, and rushed upstairs, redressing properly for the dinner.

When she rejoined the group in the dining room, he smiled at her, in such a way.

He seemed a different man with his son arrived. A brighter, more vibrant version of himself. Still full of snark, still eager to verbally spar with anyone who felt the need to prod him. But his grin wasn’t so crooked, his brow not so arched. 

Bae was a relaxed complement of his father. Easygoing where Gold was rough, accommodating where Gold was grisly. Watching the two of them was fascinating, the way Gold clearly adored his son, the way Bae was so clearly aware of it.

Belle had missed most of the wonderful dinner Granny had prepared, arriving just in time for dessert and wine. It was the atmosphere she truly craved anyway, the dim candlelight around them, the soft music humming, the scent of cinnamon and spice in the air. She felt warm, still, safe, in it all. 

Ruby and Emma were having a wonderful laugh, Granny shushing them over something wild they’d said, though the old woman couldn’t stop her own grin. Glancing around the table, Belle saw Bae’s eyes flicker to the blonde more than once, and she wondered. Her own eyes kept flickering up to the man beside Bae, whose eyes were often found on her as well.

“ _You’re_ the Year Walker?” Bae soon said, interrupting her thoughts.

Belle reddened for the millionth time that evening, and nodded.

The conversation soon turned into a bustle of discussing the Year Walks of yore, both the old tradition and the reignition coming upon them. 

“You know, when I think about Year Walking, in the freezing cold in the middle of the night, the worst part sounds like your feet,” Bae said. “Your poor feet, getting all cut up in the forest, going numb from the ice and snow. Everything else I could handle.”

“So you wouldn’t worry about your, uh, holly berries?” Emma said, making Granny _shush_ again.

“You’re not wrong. About the feet thing,” Belle said, remembering the yelp she’d let out when placing her bare feet in the snow.

“Leave your boots by the door tonight,” Bae whispered conspiritously. “I’ll hide them in the woods for you, for your Year Walk.”

“That’s cheating,” Gold reprimanded, but everyone was up in laughter again.

The night continued on, the dessert and wine, cinnamon and spice, candlelight and laughter. But soon enough everyone cleared their plates and glasses, gathered their coats, and bid one another good night.

Seeing them off at the door with Granny and Ruby, Belle shook Bae’s hand, who made another promise about boots, all smiles and winks, and Belle laughed. She shook Gold’s hand, a thing she’d never done before, and he pulled her into him, bringing his mouth to her ear.

“You look lovely this evening,” he whispered. “That dress is far better suited than your coat.”

“Now who’s complimenting who?” she teased.

That grin again. “Merry Christmas, Belle.”

“Merry Christmas, Gold.”

She went up to her room in Granny’s Inn, tucked herself goodnight, relished and replayed the memories of the pleasant evening with her friends and Gold and Bae. 

Well. That’s what she should have done.

Instead she waited, waited for the inn to clear of all the dinner guests, waited for the candles to be snuffed out, for the night and stars to truly engulf the place. For heads to lay on their pillows and eyes to close shut. There was the excitement of Christmas morning ahead, after all.

But Belle had one more board to pry. Her own Christmas gift, waiting at the top of the library.

The experiment out in the garden had left her freezing and silly, but the determination to secret herself to the library unseen kept her warm, alert, animated as she ghosted along the streets in the dark. She understood, now, what it meant to have a _want_ so full and desperate that one would go out into the cold, the dark, in search for it.

One board left, and just a few more nails.

When the last board was pried free, Belle’s heart jumped wildly to her throat. She let out a laugh, loud and harsh, and held her hands to her chest, closing her eyes before bringing herself to reach forward, twist the door knob. How silly it was, the small disappointment that after all those boards, all that paint and drywall, the door wasn’t even locked.

The door swung in with a loud creak, and Belle was greeted by still air and moonlight spilling in from the opposite side. 

She swallowed, and stepped inside.  
  
  


**Seven**

The night had finally come. Year Walk.

She arrived at 9pm, like Gold told her to, though she didn’t see him anywhere just yet. A crowd was already starting to form, people she recognized and plenty she didn’t, weaving in and out of shops while they waited for the festivities to begin. All of town square was gold and silver and red, lights and decor brighter and more abundant than they’d been at Christmas. A band was playing, food was being sold, and before she knew it, all of Storybrooke had squeezed into the lighted bustle of town square.

“Here we are!” Ariel said, leading her to the official Year Walker tent. It was a pretty burgundy thing, gold streamers and garlands hung around it. Inside there was a small office set up, along with a compact generator and heater. A plush, deeply reclined chair was in one corner, a small trolley of medical provisions next to it.

“This is my spot?” Belle asked.

“Sure is. Only the best for our Belle. You’ll be hiding out here for a few hours, so you’ll need a nice comfy spot to wait in.”

The tent was so warm, Belle found herself removing her coat, scarf, and gloves. She was already slightly drowsy from the late hour, she’d never made for a very good night owl. It was a pity she was going to be secluded from the festivities - without the excitement around her, she worried about her ability to stay awake as the hour grew later. 

“All right. Let’s go over some things.”

But ‘going over things’ was quickly interrupted by reporters, cameras, the occasional person trying to sell Year Walk related trinkets, and friends stopping by to shout their well wishes.

“This is so exciting!” Ruby said, popping in to give Belle a hug. “You’re doing a rare thing, Belle. Most New Year’s parties end at midnight, but yours will just be getting started!”

“I don’t know if I’d call my part in all this a _party_.”

“I would,” Ruby said, holding up a flask she sneaked out from her coat. “Would you like a good luck swig?”

“No!” said Ariel. “No food or drink!”

“Ah, that’s right,” Ruby said. “Sorry, Bells.”

Belle shrugged, and Ruby hugged her one last time before Ariel shooed her out of the tent.

“It’s nearly time for me to clear out and leave you on your own. Let’s talk hypothermia,” Ariel said.

“Let’s,” chuckled Belle.

She took a seat on the plush chair, while Ariel sat opposite her in a metal folding chair, having closed the tent up to keep onlookers out for the moment. She pulled out a clipboard, ran her pen down it.

“It’s 28 degrees but there’s no wind, thank God. You’ll be battling the rapid loss of body heat, so try to be as quick as you can. Quick movement alone will help keep your heart rate up, so set a brisk pace. I can’t stress enough how important this is to help keep your wits about you.”

“Thanks, Ariel, but Gold already gave me the rundown.”

“I know. I’m actually kind of saying it more for me than you. I have a checklist, and you’re probably going to be pretty out of it when you return. If you get lost, look for the lights of town square, they’ll guide you back. If you’re gone longer than an hour, like _one minute_ beyond an hour, a team will be sent out to find you.”

“Ugh. Got it,” Belle said with a frown.

“But you’ll do fine!” Ariel said. “So. When you return: we’ve got a nice electric blanket,” she said, holding said blanket up from a nearby basket, “and hot water bottles to help you warm up again. You’ll place them on the head, neck, sides of chest, and groin, like so.” Ariel clumsily demonstrated the placement of the water bottles, making Belle laugh.

“You know,” Ariel said. “The _best_ way to warm up again is to,” and she help up the paper she’d been reading, reciting with glee, “ _use skin‐to‐skin contact under loose, dry layers of blankets_.”

Belle rolled her eyes while chuckling. “You want to volunteer for that?”

“I was thinking your _liaison_ might.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Was that all you, then?” she asked. “You give that role to Gold?”

“Of course,” Ariel said, eyes twinkling. “Ruby said you liked him. And you gave me no indication that you didn’t.”

Belle ducked her head, smiled small against her chest.

“It’s almost time,” Ariel said, checking her watch. “I was hoping I’d have time to introduce you to the medical team, but it seems we’ve run out. Oh, well. They ‘med.’ That’s all you really need to know. Here,” she said, reaching into her bag. “I saved one of these for you. As the Year Walker, and all.”

It was one of the trinkets being sold in the square: a small keychain clock with the words _Storybrooke Year Walk_ circling round, with the current year in gold, glittery numbers, and a clock hand that could be moved and set manually. 

“It’s so people can keep time with how long you’re walking, once midnight strikes,” Ariel explained.

Belle nodded, chewing her lip at the thought of all these people waiting for her. Just where would that clock hand end up landing, anyway?

“We’ll do a big ‘she’s going to seclude herself!’ ceremony before you, you know, seclude yourself.”

Belle laughed through her nose. “Honestly, it’s so warm and cozy in here, I’m worried I’ll fall asleep once you leave.”

“Might not hurt to take a cat nap. But the lore encourages preparing yourself.”

“You know, despite all the help of you and Gold and my readings … I still don’t really know how to do that.”

Ariel shrugged a smile at her, then made her way out of the tent.

It was time for the Goodnight Ceremony, as Regina had decided to call it. All it really entailed was another photo op, Belle having to put her coat and scarf and gloves back on to go outside and wave her arms about as the crowd looked on and cheered. Regina made sure to have her wave the clock keychain, in hopes that more people would be encouraged to buy them. After, there was an overly dramatic gesture of closing the tent behind her as she went back inside, which she shook her head at. 

She still hadn’t seen Gold outside, and she tried not to think about it.

Oh, the tent was far cozier than she’d been expecting, but the idea that it would shield her from the party, help her to disengage from those around her, was ludicrous. The crowd began a mere five feet from the edge of her tent, and she could still hear (music!) and smell (cinnamon!) everything. The tent was dark, but the abundant lights outside couldn’t help but push a soft glow inside. Warm and red, it made her feel like a heart, the body of the town throbbing around her.

She decided to close her eyes, which would tempt sleep, but it was the only way to shut her mind off, drown out the bustle of the crowd, the music, the festivities. She placed her hands over her ears, let the warmth of the tent distract her, and ducked her head low, letting her hair curtain her face and allow some darkness. 

Images came unbidden to her mind. The crowd, just outside. The forest, when she’d wander in the daytime, the light. Mr. Gold’s face as it blinked back from her across the dinner table at Christmas Eve, as it frowned from behind his desk. Where was he? Somewhere in the crowd with Bae?

She refocused. She needed a calm place, something happy.

The room she had opened up several days prior.

The one that had started this whole wild venture in the first place.

Belle remembered, and smiled.

When she’d finally removed the last board, she’d stepped into the quarters that Mr. Gold had so adamantly described as unsuitable, in shambles, _impossible_. But it turned out to be nothing more than a lovely, if terribly dusty, apartment. 

The floorboards creaked something terrible and the bareness of the walls and floors made the place feel yawning, eerie, haunted. She had half expected a presence to come rushing forth, cast her out. “Hello?” she’d called out, and nothing called back in return. The place felt terribly void, terribly empty of any presence but herself. And it had struck her, then, just how _full_ the woods felt of presence. It had been part of her joy in visiting them so often. Solitude, without ever truly feeling alone.

In that apartment, in her glorious discovery, Belle had sat in the middle of the floor, hands on her knees, eyes darting around. She let herself sit tall, back straight, smile wide, and enjoy the place through the boarded up door, enjoy the place that, landlord or not, finally felt like hers. This was the grand thing she was supposed to ask for during her Year Walk, but a little determination and deviousness had made it hers anyway.

She had risen from that floor, walked toward a set of large bay windows that framed the moon, the stars outside. She had seen the clocktower just outside, and walked toward it, watched as its second hand made its way to the twelve, watched as the clock prepared to strike - 

“Belle?”

Her eyes popped open.

“Am I good to come in? It’s almost midnight.”

Belle blinked several times. Had it been two hours already? How had she managed to make herself disappear so long?

“Come in,” she said, voice creaking.

Ariel peered in past the tent’s entrance, ducking in slowly.

“It’s time to undress,” she said.

“Oh,” Belle nodded. That’s right. The whole nudity thing.

“Who’s your Undresser?”

“My what?”

“Your Undresser. The official Undresser. To, you know, undress you. Did you designate one?”

“I - Gold didn’t say anything about that.”

Ariel raised her brow, checked her watch. “Who do you want to designate?”

Belle shook her head, still trying to come back to the tent.

“We need to get your photo with them before you start. Because, you know, once you’re undressed, we’re not allowed to take any more photos of you. For obvious reasons. It’s almost midnight, do you have someone in mind?”

Belle heard the rush in Ariel’s voice, an unwelcome contrast to the swimming of her head just moments before. She stretched while thinking, pulling her arms up high and arching her back. When she felt properly readjusted, and she sank back into her chair, and thought some more.

She looked up at Ariel, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for Belle’s answer.

“You know who,” Belle said, waving an arm forward.

“Right,” Ariel said. “Be right back.”

She hoped he was even there. He said he’d be.

She could hear his approach before he opened the tent, the calls of “Gonna stick it to you!” trailing him on his way. She’d nearly forgotten about all that. He entered with a frown, as much the grump as she’d ever known him, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course you’d torture me further by naming me your Undresser.”

Belle only smiled wider. “We need to get a picture together.”

“No.”

“Over here!” Ariel said, popping in behind him, and they both looked over. Belle strode up to Gold, wobbly on her feet, and he couldn’t have been that upset, for he helped steady her. Belle turned her smile towards Ariel, who ushered in a photographer before Gold’s disgruntled face could protest. 

Picture taken, Ariel and the photographer swiftly left the tent, closed up again from the celebration outside, and Belle was left alone with Mr. Gold. 

“Sorry,” she said.

“You’re not sorry in the least,” Mr. Gold said.

“You don’t have to,” Belle said. “No one would ever know.”

“Oh no, Miss French,” Gold said. “You’ve designated me your Undresser. You’re going to deal with those consequences.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I needed to designate one?”

Gold sighed. “To avoid this very situation.”

“That was poor planning on your part. You should have known I’d pick you, in the end.”

“I’d hoped Ariel or Ruby would fill the role, that amongst the commotion they’d be the ones nearest the tent and most convenient. But you sent Ariel on a search for me anyway. You’ve lost some time, midnight is nearly here.”

“Then we’d better get started,” said Belle.

But he was in no rush to reach for her, hands twitching over his cane where he stayed locked on his spot. The hard man in front of her wavered, his bluff finally called.

Belle pulled her hair over her shoulder while she looked at him expectantly, smoothing the strands between closed fists, watching him, waiting for him to move.

He eyed her, chewed the inside of his cheeks, sighed. 

“Turn around.”

She did as he said, but it was still moments before she felt his hands on the zipper of her dress. His fingers brushed her neck, and her breath caught, her zipper being lowered slowly.

When her dress was fully unzipped, he stopped moving. He stood still so long that Belle looked behind her shoulder, just as he stepped closer.

He slipped his hands underneath her dress at the shoulders, helped her shrug it forward and slump it towards her waist. She wiggled her hips, let the dress fall down her legs, and he stooped down, gathering up the garment and helping her step out of it, helping her toe off her boots.

She turned, seeing the wince on his face as he rose. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said. “Your ankle.”

“It’s fine,” he waved, folding her dress over his arm.

“Can I - can I asked what happened?”

His eyes, trained on her pale belly, flicked up to her face. “I’ll tell you. But another time.”

She nodded.

He set her dress down on the plush chair behind her, reaching around her and skimming his breath across her chest. She was embarrassed to notice her own breath heavy and labored, and tried to still her hands at her sides. They opened and closed in small fists.

“You’re just as affected as me,” he said, brows narrowed, wonder in his voice.

“Of course I am.”

He shook his head, bringing his arms around her, unclasping her bra. “Bring your hair forward,” he said, and she did, allowing it to drape over her chest, preserve some modesty.

He brought her straps down her shoulders, arms, ran his thumbs over the cups of her bra as he gathered it up, training his eyes on her face as he did so. He blinked down, mouth parting, and she looked to see her hair hadn’t perfectly covered her left breast, pale swell and pink nipple peeking through. He smoothed her hair himself, as if the move were natural, and she swallowed as he retrained his eyes on her.

He grasped her elbows, turning themselves around. “I’ll sit for this next part, if you don’t mind,” he said, and she shook her head.

He took his place on the chair, she held out her arms as an anchor. He stared up at her as he lowered, face softening, hard man dissolving as he finally allowed his eyes to move down to her chest, her waist. He set his hands on her hips, and she cupped them.

“You’re so hot and cold with me,” she said. “Back and forth. I wish you’d make up your mind.”

“I’m about to,” he said, reaching for the stocking at her thigh.

He lowered one stocking, then the other, Belle lifting her legs in turn for each one, and as he pulled them, he looked up to her face, mouth parted in wonder. When down to her panties, he had trouble bringing his hands forward.

“Gods, aren’t you beautiful?”

She swallowed, one hand on his shoulder, the other tempted to touch his hair, but she kept it down. “That’s the third time you’ve called me beautiful.”

“I’ll stop, if you want me to,” he said, and she very purposely closed her mouth.

He rose, using her shoulders for leverage, and looked down at her, smoothing her hair once more.

“I can’t do the last part. I’ll do something terribly foolish, if I do,” but he was already being foolish, pushing his nose into her hair, breathing deep. “The time has come, Belle. Stick to the path. They’ll know, if you veer, they’ll come. Get to the statue, make your request, and then come back to me. As fast as you can. Keep steady, keep quick.”

_No one can help you but me_ , he’d said.

“Tell me your name, before I start,” she said, looking up at him.

“You know my name.”

“Your full name,” she said.

He raised a brow. “You don’t need it.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“So that when I state my request, I can do it properly.”

He stared, hands cupping her face. “You’re asking for an apartment.”

“I’m asking for what I want.”

And he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “So help me, I’ll choose my own ruin. Callum,” he said, into her forehead. “Callum Gold.”

“And when did you do your Year Walk, Callum Gold?”

He pulled back, stared at her.

“Not five years ago.”

“These very woods?”

He nodded. “New Year’s Eve.”

“It wasn’t a big celebration, like this one?”

“Of course not. Because I was wise enough to keep my mouth shut about it. Unlike you, impossible woman.”

“What did you ask for?”

But he shook his head. “Another time. Just know that it cost me.”

“And will this cost me?”

“It might. Stick to the path. It’s time.”

She looked behind them, back towards the tent entrance, and wanted nothing more than to sink into the warmth of the tent, his forehead, his arms.

But the clock keychain on the chair winked at her. The presence in the woods hissed a whistle, calling to her.

She squared herself, closed her eyes. “I’m ready.”

Gold nodded.

She bent down, removing her panties herself, rest them on the chair. Gold kept his eyes on her face, though his hand held her arm, rubbed a busy circle into her elbow.

When she rose, he interlaced their fingers, and led her to the front of the tent.

“They’re going to want some silly goodbye thing before you start walking. Ignore them, just go. What matters is the woods, not them.”

Belle touched the front of the tent, brought up the face of the statue in her mind. She set her jaw, braced herself, and stepped out.

The cold hit her immediately, and she sucked in a breath. She was greeted with gasps and startled cheers that slowly made their way through the rest of the crowd into claps and hoots. Ariel was there, ready for some kind of announcement or photo op again, but Belle heeded Gold’s words and pressed past her, offering a quick smile and wave before making her way out.

“Clear the way!” Gold called, and the crowd listened, more gasps and aahs as Belle approached. Naked woman, hair covering her breasts, sparse thatch covering her sex, and did Eve ever cower in winter? Belle kept up her silly wave, letting the eyes of the crowd move to her hand instead of anything else, and pressed her way to the woods.

“Stick it to Gold!” a group yelled after her.

“Stick to the path!” Callum called, one last time.

**Eight**

Music and lights disappeared, cinnamon was replaced with pine, and her feet grew numb almost immediately. 

Belle had made it to the woods.

There was the inconvenience of walking through the large clearing between town and the woods, where all she could think about was the entirety of Storybrooke staring at her ass. It ruined the buzz inside her, made her self conscious and small, but once encased in the woods, she could breathe again, expand her body and lungs and trust the brisk pace she’d set to get her where she was going.

Be fast! they’d all said, Be quick! And she was trying, but cold was a funny thing, wrapping around her and biting at her ankles, moving up her arms and legs and making arrows for her heart. She let her breath come out in heavy shudders, happily cursed the snow and ice around her, allowing herself some _loud_ after spending so much time quiet.

The path was covered in snow, but stomped down and packed and easy to find. Hopefully she had made this walk enough in the daytime to have it memorized for the night. It was familiar, though strange, everything silver and black in the moonlight, none of the greens and whites she was used to in the sunlight.

Each huff of her breath came in too sharp, the cold eating at her insides, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She blinked, trying to remember just how much farther she had to go, what exactly was the halfway point again?

It all felt so normal, so silly. Being out at night in this terrible, terrible cold, rushing as quick as she could for a statue in the middle of a forest.

It felt so silly, until suddenly it didn’t.

The wind picked up, making her shake violently. It had been so silent before! It swirled around her, snow circling, and she tensed. The wind had a shift to it, a warmth that wasn’t warm, but numbing, easing her body to relax. She was suddenly able to drop her shoulders, release the horrible tension in her muscles, and look around herself.

A twig snapped near her, an echo had called from the other side. Belle looked around, trying to manage the task while keeping to the path, keeping her brisk pace. Her eyes widened as she saw silvery wisps, figures, and did members from the crowd follow her, try to join her? Whoever they were, they were moving as briskly as she, and she stopped, shaken, disturbed.

They kept up their pace, and they did not look at her. One, two, three, five, eight, no, more! How many were there? They continued past her, walking, all walking, amongst the trees around her, and they looked naked and trembling too. One let out a sob, another a moan, and they all carried an air of determination. One paused, turned back to look at Belle. There, its face, that was the face she’d thought she’d seen in the statue, when she thought it was a woman.

The face turned back around, kept walking. All the figures disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. With the wind they’d appeared, and with the wind they vanished. 

Year Walkers, Belle thought, fellow Year Walkers, from long ago. Time felt still, a moment, like it was folding in on itself, years collapsing, combining, one by one. They were all walking at the same time, surely, all occupying the same fold, all together.

Belle shook her head, held her temples. The brain will grow sluggish, they’d warned her. She looked down, assured herself she was still on the path, and continued her walk.

The numbness that had started earlier started to sweep her, moving in from arms and feet to her chest and belly. It was unpleasant and it wasn’t; whatever it was, it allowed her to relax her arms, allowed her breathing to calm. Belle felt keyed up and too afraid to let her gaze wander again, trying to ignore whatever strange thing was happening now, and keep her walk focused, on the path, on her task.

Her footing was terrible. She had expected a continual crunch of snow, but instead the snow was packed down and smooth, making her walk slick, making her slip every few steps. It ruined her pace, made her steps uneven, but she pressed on. And when a whisper started to come from her left, her right, just ahead, just behind, she reminded herself that she was simply frightened and cold, mind slowing down, and don’t listen! Keep going, keep walking!

“Belle,” the voice said, her father’s, and she gasped. He was saying a thing he always said to her, a _goodnight_ , a _sleep tight_ , _don’t read too late, my love_ and Belle tried to blink it away. A memory, nothing more.

“Belle,” her mother’s voice said, and she felt like sobbing. How she missed her mother! This voice had her stopping, suddenly, catching herself, just a moment, then continuing on with a swipe of her eye. It wouldn’t do to have tears trailing down her face now, wiped against her hand. Oh the cold, oh the chill the wet would bring! It was too dangerous to cry, and she huffed another heavy breath, and pressed on.

White pines and green pines and silvery snow and black night, twinkling stars. Was she moving quickly? She couldn’t tell anymore, all movement felt slothful, dragging. Her feet stung, and she looked down to see spots of red marking a trail behind her. She stopped, spun around. Yes, a trail of red dots, small, little blood, and it drew her eyebrows together. She shook her head. Her belly shuddered and her breasts froze and her legs ached and she couldn’t stop, she needed to press on. One step, then another, jog if you have to, but suddenly she was bumping into a tree.

Her hand scraped against it as she picked herself up, looked forward. Surely that was the ring of trees just ahead? The trail from town square to statue wasn’t that long, was it? She’d timed herself before, but couldn’t remember now. Was the path twenty minutes, or half a day? Those were the same, weren’t they?

There was a wolf howling somewhere, there was a wolf -

“Belle,” his voice said.

It was so much closer than the others had been.

She looked up, and he stepped out from behind the tree she’d landed on.

“Callum?” she said.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said urgently, hands forward and beckoning. “This has gone on far enough. You’re about to catch your death, if you haven’t already. Come, come quick!”

He stepped forward. She stepped back. 

“I’ve got my car ready, just over here. It’s warm. You can rest, relax.”

His car, where? Leave Year Walk? Just like that? Had this been his plan all along? Spirit her away, just in the middle of it?

Belle blinked, her head swimming. She looked down, and the crunch of snow with her steps had her gasping. 

Where was the path? She’d lost it, already?

She looked up at Gold, his soft hair, soft eyes, pressed suit, sharp cheekbones. Hands beckoning, pleading.

“Where’s your coat?” she asked. 

And his hair seemed longer, suddenly, wavy, and his eyes seemed like slits.

“Where’s your cane?” she asked, her heart breaking.

And the thing in front of her smiled.

“Gods, aren’t you beautiful,” it said, and she started to shake.

She stepped backwards, one step, two, turn around, where was the path? 

“Come, Belle,” it said. “I can warm you, come here, just here.”

_A thing of temptation_ , he’d said, and if she could just find her footsteps, her dots of red!

“I’ll hold you, Belle. Your neck, your breasts.”

_They’ll know if you veer, they’ll come._

“Work my mouth on your cunt, would you like that?” and it sucked its fingers in, one, two, three. “I can fill you up, dearie.”

That whistling call again, and Belle raised her head in its direction. The moon overhead, the trees reaching for it, and dots of red, dots of red, she just needed to find - there! The steps in the snow she’d accidentally taken in this direction, there! She followed them back, wrapping her arms around herself, running, following, back up to where she’d lost her way.

The smooth snow of the path had her slipping, falling, crying out, but she’d made it, ah! She groaned loudly, clenching her teeth, grasping her thigh, the bruise that would form, ah! She squinted her eyes with the pain, bit her tongue.

She knew the thing was gone once she made it back to the path, felt its presence sucked away. She trembled and shook for what had happened, and tears threatened again, but she rose. 

Everything felt still again, real. She coughed and held her head, her leg. The things she had heard, the things she had seen - her body was reacting to the immense cold, her brain firing off all her fears, that’s surely what was happening.

What mattered now was that she was right - the ring of trees was just ahead! And inside, the hands, bronze hands, reaching out.

The feeling to rush had abated. She was here, and she would take her time. 

She trudged up the path, a sparse glance at the plaque Gold had cleared so long ago. The statue ahead, her final destination, the trees breathing around it, the moonlight filling it up. Its hands, reaching, that reach that used to confuse her so.

Belle reached with her own hands, let them hover just in front of the statue. Gold had touched them with such confidence, and Belle understood now.

She pressed her palms to the statue.

His name was ready on her lips, her thing to ask for, her request. But as her hands pressed in, she felt the statue press back.

She blinked at the feeling, watched her breath come out in a long cloud, and closed her eyes.

She already had the apartment. She already had Gold. He was hers, the moment he gave her his name.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I ask for nothing,” and she took her hands away.

The moonlight moved over the statue, and Belle looked up to see the trees swaying in a small breeze, shifting the light where she stood. She looked once to the statue’s face, that strange winking in the shifting light, the way it made the statue look like its mouth was opening. She took a step back, then another, watching the statue. Its hands seemed to move, seemed to bid her back toward the path, back the way she came.

She turned, blinking as if waking, and the cold that had been held back came rushing in. The spell over, the stark reality of woods and snow and ice and chill. She was freezing, her thigh hurt, her feet hurt. She started to cough uncontrollably, holding her sides.

She needed to get out of here.

She made a sprint for the path. 

“Ah!” she cried, enjoying curses and hisses as she made her way through the cold, the woods. Strange whispers still hissed at her heels, and her name was called, over and over, but she refused to look. Her flesh was red in angry goosebumps, her feet still bled, her nose and fingers and toes felt like they were going to fall off. She ran down the path, careful to grab trees when she felt herself slip, careful to look down rather than ahead, keeping her eyes on the path lest she wander.

“He’ll open the door for you.”

Belle stopped, grabbing onto a tree, turning her head sharply to the left.

The woman she’d seen, standing, dressed. A boy, hugging her legs.

Belle squinted her eyes tight. Opened them. The woman was still there.

“He’ll soon open the door for you. You need never have opened it yourself.”

Belle squinted again. “Should I have not opened it?”

She opened her eyes again. The woman, the boy, still there, and they smiled. “The door was always going to open.”

On her third squint, they were gone. Nothing was there. Nothing was probably ever there, and no one had probably spoken, and Belle’s head hurt.

She ran. Everything was frozen and aching, but she was nearly there. Her lungs hurt with every breath, and it had started to snow softly, and the trees were becoming more sparse. The snow started to drift down through small openings between trees and land on her skin and hair. 

Up ahead, through the long white snake of the path, Belle saw a lump. Small black lump in the middle of the path, stark against the snow, and Belle slowed with caution.

Boots.

Boots!

Belle approached with wide eyes, unbelieving. Was this a trick, another strange dream on her walk? She touched them, and they were solid enough. She let out a single loud, happy laugh, one to reflect Bae’s smiles and winks. Uncaring anymore, she slipped them on.

They had perfect grip and she ran, ran, ran. Despite the neverending sore sting in her feet, she ran. It would be sorted soon, all this pain she felt, soon, all this terrible freezing, and all she could think of was warmth and fires and hot baths and his smooth arms and _she was almost there!_

The clearing approached, and she gulped down another sounding laugh. She shook so terribly, shivered so wildly, touching her lips and the inside of her elbows and she couldn’t feel them at all, but there was the clearing! Just beyond, the town had moved forward inches and inches, the crowd spilling over into the clearing as they’d waited for her. As her figure broke through the tree line, a cheer erupted, startling, jarring. It nearly sounded like that whistle that had first called her.

She slowed into a heavy trot, her body exhausted, her limbs unfeeling anymore, just another part of the ice and snow around her. Her breath exhaled in heavy pants with each step, puff puff puff, and she was about to fall over. The decline of the clearing was slanted just enough to make every step a near fall, but she pressed on.

Music started playing, and little bursts of light started shining from the crowd. Pictures snapping, probably, or maybe her vision was blurring, blinking in and out of consciousness. She smiled at either possibility, letting her teeth show, her tongue hang out.

There, just ahead, among the snapping lights, the thick crowd of people, he emerged. 

He was running. Uneven gait and his cane only just keeping up with him. Over one arm he carried something long and wide, a big swatch of cloth. A blanket, surely, hopefully, and she picked up her run again, ignoring the shouts and cheers thrown at her, her eyes only for Gold. 

With each blink of her eyes he was closer, closer, until she was stumbling into his chest and grabbing his lapels to stay upright and how did he get to her so fast? Her legs wobbled something terrible and he was throwing a heavy wool blanket around her and her lungs broke with a sob of relief.

“Belle!” he was saying, “Belle!” His arms engulfing her and hands rubbing, up and down for friction, and he was so warm, and he smelled so good. No one, not anywhere, had ever felt so warm, smelled so good! He was wrapping her up, pulling her into him, and she let herself fall. She heard other voices nearby, Ariel, Regina, Ruby, Granny, excited shouts and bellows, but they were just more noises from the woods, weren’t they?

“Belle,” he said. “Where the fuck did you get those boots?”

She pulled her head up, neck only just able to accommodate the motion, and smiled. He smiled in return, and bent down, nuzzling his forehead across hers and cupping the back of her head with a careful hand, large hand, warm hand. 

The cheers around them were nearly exhausting in their exuberance, and he tugged the blanket tighter around them, tried to block out some of the noise and lights and hundreds of eyes, and let his mouth move down. 

His lips connected with hers, and he kissed her.

The crowd stilled around them, a great collective gasp before the clearing was finally drawn into silence. 

“Stick it to Gold?” a small voice said somewhere with dismay.

Belle felt Gold smile against her, and he continued to pluck her lips.  
  
  
  


**Nine**

A whirlwind happened, after that. 

A return to the tent, warm tent, lovely tent. An argument between Ariel, Regina, and Gold, something about letting the medical team do their job and I will, I am, that’s what I’m doing, and his arm around her leading her to the warm tent, lovely tent, and she was ready to fall down and fall asleep.

Very quickly, the plush chair was suddenly underneath her, and the comforting press of those hot water bottles Ariel had promised. The head and the neck and the sides of chest and what was that last one? _Arh,_ she grunted as it made connection, with yes, that was it, her groin.

The electric blanket was thrown over her, though it didn’t yet feel turned on. “We need to warm her up slowly,” someone said, and then her limbs were being lifted out one at a time as the medical team examined her, piece by piece, keeping the rest of her covered and regathering heat. Ariel was bringing a drink to her lips, a straw, and she drank, something warm and earthy, tea? It felt good sliding down her throat, heating her from the inside, and there were so many people in here!

“Callum,” she said, and his face reappeared in her vision.

“Take me home,” she said, and he smoothed her forehead.

“Soon, sweetheart,” he said, and she reached forward, running a hand over his, down to the golden handle between his grip.

“There’s your cane,” she said with a smile before closing her eyes. She closed her eyes for a long, long time.

When they opened again, the tent was far less busy, only her favorite familiar faces nearby.

“You did it, Bells,” Ruby said.

“That’s our girl,” Granny said. 

“A complete success,” Ariel said.

Belle nodded, looking around, finding her grip still in Gold’s.

“Am I clear to go?” she asked.

Medical personnel nodded, explained the mild case of hypothermia she’d experienced and how it had been handled, how her feet were now bandaged and cleaned. There was fresh clothing available for her to wear, large loose layers as she needed to ease back into heat, and take it slow, take it easy. You’re good to go, but do you have someone to look after you?

“We’ll keep her in tip top shape,” Granny said, Ruby confirming.

Belle looked at Gold.

He rubbed his thumb over her hand. “I have accommodations ready, if you’d like to come home with me.”

Granny and Ruby looked at Gold, then back at Belle. 

“You’re sure?” Granny said.

“I like him,” Belle said. “Is that so wrong?”

Ruby placed her arm around Granny, threw a knowing smile at Belle.

“Don’t worry, Granny, he’ll take good care of her. And remember, she’s still gotta stick it to him,” Ruby said, making Granny _shush_ her, both women bidding warm goodbyes.

Ariel was still there, still bouncing on the soles of her feet, still holding her clipboard, still looking expectant.

“Are you able to answer a few questions, Belle?” she asked, indicating a reporter or two outside.

“Tomorrow,” Gold gruffed. “Give it a rest until tomorrow.”

“OK,” Ariel said, then, leaning in close to Belle. “Just a quick quote? What was it like?”

Belle blinked, wanting to draw away, and Gold’s arms came about her.

“A dream,” she finally managed, Ariel nodding and accepting the small answer as enough.

“Ready?” Gold said, helping Belle rise.

The bustle was finally over, a calm finally settling, and she smiled.

The simple drive in his car from town square to his home was surreal. The hour was still terribly late, the black of night still all around them. With each blink she saw her Year Walk, the woman, the figures, the statue, Gold. But the warmth of his car and the spice of his cologne from their close quarters had her huddling into her blanket, her clothing, breathing deep. She was okay, now, she was safe, and warm. How good it felt, to be safe, to be warm.

His home, when they pulled up to it, seemed its own large, mysterious forest of salmon and black. Tall spires and that white snow falling upon it. He led her inside, led her upstairs, her feet aching with each step but his arm felt good around her. He led her to a bedroom, and she blinked.

“Is this your room?” she asked. 

But he was busy explaining something about sleep, something about food and water, a warm bath later, if she felt up to it, and he was pulling away, and she grabbed for his arms.

“Take me to your room,” she said.

“You need to sleep, Belle. You need to rest.”

“And I can do that in your room.”

He scoffed, but it was a gentle thing. He gave only a small hesitation before nodding, leading her to a new room, his room, walked her to his bed.

“Rest with me,” she said, when he made to pull away again.

“You’ve been through an ordeal, Belle.”

“And wouldn’t it have been nice to curl up with someone after your own ordeal, when you went on your own Year Walk? Come here.”

She tugged on his lapels until he sat on the bed with her. Tugged at his layers, his buttons. “Please,” she said.

“We shouldn’t, Belle, not yet,” he said.

“You keep telling me no. No to the apartment, no to complimenting you, no to wanting you here. But then you help me, compliment me, bring me here. You said you were about to make up your mind about me. Have you?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then, please. I’m not asking for sex. I’m asking you to lie with me, sleep with me. Warm up with me. I was just out in the woods, freezing and aching and suffering ungodly, frightening things. You’re the only one who understands what I just did. So warm me up. Sleep with me.”

He was pushing his forehead into hers before she was finished speaking. She moved her lips up to his, finished her plea into his mouth, and he gave up whatever reservations he’d been harboring, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her.

She pulled and tugged at his clothes, he pulled and tugged at hers. He reached above them, hand diving into the pillows, pulling the covers down, tucking them both inside once all layers of clothes were on the floor.

“The best way to warm up,” she said, “is skin-to-skin contact.”

He scoffed again, that gentle thing, but it was into her neck, and he’d long abandoned disagreement.

She hissed when his skin made contact with hers, how smooth he felt, how perfect! His legs sliding against hers and his erection bobbing at her stomach. His chest when she pulled him into her, wrapped her arms around him. She kept kissing him, ran her hands over his back and chest, his hair, and kept kissing him, kissing him.

The black night outside bid them sleep, and Belle’s eyes drifted closed with Gold’s heat finally seeping into her, the covers tight around them and his lips on her mouth, jaw, neck. She tucked into him, tight as she could, and he curled around her, arms bracing, engulfing, and they slept.

She woke to him gone, however.

She reached out, feeling nothing but the sheets, and rose in a panic. A warm glow was filling the room, and she blinked to see him crouched just beyond the foot of the bed, poking at a small blaze in his fireplace.

“Room was getting cold,” he explained. “Can’t risk your temperature dropping.”

He rose, standing tall, fully nude, and she felt plenty warm just looking at him. His smooth chest and taut belly, sinewy arms and legs, relaxed cock against his thighs.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She smiled small, rubbed her head. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 7am.”

She brought her hands down, fisted the covers. “The whole thing feels like it was dream. Just a dream.”

“It was real, Belle. All of it.”

She looked up at him. “I saw you,” she said. “In the woods.”

“Me?” he said, and she nodded.

“You … I know it wasn’t really you,” she said, her tone seeming to ask if it was.

He shook his head, making his way back to her, a gentle hobble with his uneven gait, and sat on the bed. “I was in town square, waiting for you to return.”

He reached forward, cupping her chin, and she let her face dip into his touch.

“You had mentioned ... the imp,” she said.

“Aye.”

“The things I read of it … a creature of desire, you’d said. My books said it was a creature of deals, as well.”

“Yes,” Gold said, pulling back. “It uses your desires against you. Tries to … entice you.”

Belle blushed, remembering the lewd things it’d said to her.

“It, um, enticed me.”

“Appearing as me?”

She nodded. 

He grinned, briefly, like he wanted to tease, but her frown was so pronounced that he leaned forward, put his arms around her.

“It’s all right, Belle, you’re safe now. Do you want to tell me …?”

“Another time,” she said, watery smile.

He nodded, remembered when he’d said the same to her.

“It came to me as well, Belle. It appeared as my son.”

“Your son?” Belle said, eyes widening. “So that’s what you asked for - your son?”

“Yes,” he said. “My boy, we’d - we’d had a falling out. I’m a … I’m a difficult man to love. And I’d become desperate. Desperate to have him back. And on my Year Walk, the imp appeared to me. It … it makes promises. Promises beyond what the other spirits of Year Walk offer. ”

“And … you have your son back,” Belle said slowly.

Gold shifted, bringing his leg up. “When you ask for something, you have to give something. The woods are not unconditional.”

He touched his ankle, the one that caused him his uneven gait.

“I … fell, on my Year Walk. A terrible fall. My ankle has never been the same since. And right as I fell, the imp, it spoke to me, it said,” and Gold paused, licking his lips. “ _I’ll take your steps_.”

Belle’s breath stilled, her eyes staring at him.

“I have my son back, Belle. I will never begrudge the cost I had to pay. But know that I _did_ pay a cost.”

Belle nodded, reaching forward to touch his ankle, and Gold watched her.

“Come here,” she said, bidding him back into bed. He rejoined her under the covers, retucked her into his arms, and they faced each other, stomachs pressed together, noses bumping.

“You didn’t follow it, then?” Gold asked. “The imp?”

“No,” she said, looking away.

He let his nose trace her cheek, her temple. “Tell me what it said.”

She blinked back up at him, let her hand reach up, touch his hair. “It wanted me to … as you, it wanted to whisk me away. From Year Walk. Take me back to warmth.”

Gold’s eyes narrowed.

“I had strayed off the path. By accident. Being out in the cold, I got so disoriented, it was all so -”

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I understand. You’re here now, you’re safe.”

“I knew it wasn’t you. It wore no coat, it had no cane,” she looked down, licked her lips.

“What did it say?” he asked again.

“It wanted to … warm me.”

“As I’m warming you now?”

“It wanted to … warm my neck, my breasts.”

Gold traced a hand up to her neck, let it move down to her swells.

“Work it’s my mouth … on my cunt,” she whispered.

He sucked in a breath. “It says the things you want, Belle,” he said. “It says the things you … oh Belle,” and he nuzzled her head, her throat. ”Tell me it’s true. Tell me that’s what you want!”

“It’s what I want,” Belle said.

Gold rolled her underneath him, pinning her under his weight, pressing her into the mattress and letting his hips rub into hers. “Oh Belle,” he moaned. “Oh Belle, I’ll give you anything, anything you want. All you need do is ask.”

“I want you,” she said.

“I’m yours,” he said, moving down. He nuzzled his face into her breasts, kissed and sucked until he was taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking while using a hand to knead her other breast. She sighed, moaned, let her head fall back into the pillows. She raised her thighs, let his weight fall deeper into her, let her legs squeeze his sides.

“I’ll warm you,” he said, and he moved down further.

He nestled against her, let his face burrow into her, opened his mouth to her sex. His tongue swept over her, his lips captured her, sucked in her labia, her clit, and she bucked her hips.

He brought his hands up to steady her, wrapped around her thighs and pinned her down while he worked on her, hidden underneath the covers. For the first time since her Year Walk, she felt overly heated, too warm, too hot! She whimpered as his tongue swept against her, _worked her cunt_ , and her arms threw back the covers so she could see him.

He lifted his head with a grin, that crooked grin that’d won her over so long ago, and crawled up her body. He grabbed her hands, interlaced their fingers, rest their hands on the pillows on either side of her head. 

“Tell me what else you want,” he said.

“Your cock,” she whispered.

He nodded, nudging her legs wider and letting his head brush her entrance. He pushed in, and her eyes widened, her breath panting, her walls fluttering around him with every inch gained.

He started to thrust, falling deeper with every push, and her mouth opened in wordless awe. He buried his face in her neck, mumbling her name over and over, and she bucked her hips against him, relishing the feeling of his cock pounding in and out of her, and she was ready to scream.

Oh, she was getting too hot! The opposite of all those woods and ice and snow, the terrible chill that made her body want to curl inwards. Now she felt that deep longing in her belly, that terrible want, the need to explode, expand, and she pushed against his chest, her heavy breath and sweat and pulsing heat causing him to rise. She pushed him and pushed, pushed until he fell on his back, and she climbed atop him, razing her fingernails along his chest, impaling herself atop his cock, over and over, pushing down with his every thrust up.

“Yes!” he cried, grabbing her hips, pounding up into her. 

Red lines covered his chest from her frantic energy, and she threw her head back with a cry as she came, her walls convulsing around him, her body trembling uncontrollably. He let out a long, low moan, securing her hips tight against his so he could feel her cunt grasping him, milking him, as he came in long, hot spurts inside her.

She collapsed atop him, and he wrapped his arms around her, their sweat sliding, their skin glistening, breath heavy against each other.

Her body ached, her muscles horribly sore, her center dull and throbbing.

“Anything you want,” she repeated against his chest, happy smile and closed eyes. She lifted, letting his cock slide out of her, and they both groaned. She fell back onto his chest, and his hands moved up to her shoulders, her hair.

“Anything I want, but the apartment?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes, chest still panting. He tugged on her hair, tugged until she lifted up her head to look at him. His eyes searched hers.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My ruin,” he said.

She blinked in confusion.

He ran his fingers through her hair, the tangles they’d created. “When I was in the woods, on my Year Walk. The voices, they followed me. Warned me. Said that my ruin lay ahead of me, in the tenant above the library.”

“... what?”

“ _The tenant between clock and garden will cause your ruin. Above the library, lay waste and ravage.”_

“Clock and garden?”

“The clocktower, the community garden. Between them is the library. The apartment above the library is the only place to hold a tenant.”

Belle looked at him, eyes narrowing, thinking. “That’s why you closed it up?”

“Aye. To keep out whoever it was that was going to cause my ruin. But I’ve failed, miserably. I’ve let you in,” he said, hugging her to him, “and let you in gladly. My ruin, and so be it.”

“But … how would I ruin you?”

He shrugged. “In time, likely, we’ll know.”

“But that’s so terrible. Ominous.”

He nodded. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He said nothing, playing with her hair, letting his fingers trace patterns on her skin.

She rose, staring down at his chest, the angry red lines she’d created there in their passion. She looked around his room, at his bed, his windows, their clothing strewn across the floor, the fire behind them.

Belle stared at him again, her eyes narrowing further. “Callum, I … perhaps I’m oversimplifying, but, all of those words … ruin, ravage, lay waste …. they just seem to be euphemisms for … sex.”

“What?”

“And your nightstands … on this one you have a clock, on that one you have a garden.”

“What?” he said, rising up.

“A succulent garden, in your pot there.”

Gold turned around, staring at one nightstand, then the other. 

“We’re on the second floor, yes?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What room is underneath us?”

“... my library.”

She held her hand out, palm up and a shrug of her shoulder. 

“It can’t be that simple!” he said.

“I’ve … ruined you,” she said, running her fingers over his chest, those red lines. “Laid waste,” she said, pushing him back down into the pillows, smoothing her hand across him and smiling. “Ravaged.”

He blinked several times. “But you’re not my tenant.”

And she bit her lip.

“Belle?”

“I know what I did was wrong. But I sent a check your way, as an apology.”

“For _what?_ ” he asked.

“For breaking into the apartment above the library.”

And he laughed. Started to laugh and laugh. He wrapped his arms around her, laughing into her neck, her hair. 

“You ridiculous, wonderful, _impossible_ woman!” he cried.

  
  
**Epilogue**

They stood in the narrow hallway above the library together, staring at the door.

“You really did a number on this, didn’t you?”

“I tried to be orderly,” she said, gesturing to the neatly stacked boards along the wall, the bucket where she’d collected all the nails.

“It’s a mess,” he said, running his cane through the settled paint and drywall dust.

Belle shrugged, sheepish smile.

“I would have opened this for you myself, eventually.”

Belle sighed. “That’s what the woman said.”

“Hmm?”

But Belle waved her hand in nevermind.

Gold stepped forward, reaching for the door, twisting the knob. He looked back at her with a sly grin, and pushed the door forward.

_He’ll open the door for you_.

And Belle smiled. 

They entered together, the pretty, light-filled, dusty apartment. Its creaking boards and bare walls, its bay windows and the spot she’d sat on the floor.

“Are you sure you still want to live here?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “There’s something romantic about it, living above the library. And it’d just be convenient, of course, since I work here, and all.”

He nodded. “I can have it cleaned for you, arrange to have your furniture moved in.”

She strode up to him, weaving her arm through his. Looked around and took in the silence of the place, the stillness.

“It’s funny,” she said.

“What?”

“My Year Walk.”

He looked down at her, returning the cheeky grin she wore. “What of it?’

She lifted his hand, interlaced their fingers. Brought his knuckles up and played them across her lips. “I asked for nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I thought about asking for this place, asking for you. But. I’d already broken in here. And I didn’t want supernatural forces to give you to me. I wanted you to want me of your own accord.”

Gold opened his hand, let it cup her cheek.

“So I asked for nothing. Those were my exact words.”

He ran his fingers down her chin.

“And apparently,” she continued, smile growing again, “that’s exactly what this apartment turned out to be. Nothing.”

Gold blinked several times, narrowed his eyes, then huffed out a laugh. “Then don’t move in.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. Let it remain nothing.”

She narrowed her own brows. “Then where do you suggest I live?”

“With me,” he said, and she blinked in surprise.

“You can say no,” he said, “this place is yours, whatever you want to do with it.” He ducked his head low, pulled her into him. “But how else can I ensure my daily ruining, unless you’re right there with me?”

She sighed into his arms, the wonderful way they wrapped around her, his delicious smell, his permeating warmth. She snuggled into him, but the longer she didn’t answer, the more uncertain he grew.

He pulled back to look at her, a frown on his face. “You can say no,” he said again. “To all of it. To living with me. Ruining me.”

“You think I’m going to say no?” she scoffed at him, the frown he wore. “No to living with you? No to _ruining_ you?” and she placed a finger on his lips. “That’s unnecessary. And impossible. Put it from your mind,” she said, a poor imitation of his brogue.

And he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed my bastardization of a Scandinavian tradition. I first came across it while playing the game [Year Walk](https://store.steampowered.com/app/269050/Year_Walk/>) a few years ago, and always wanted to write my own version of the tale. Here it is, in all its smutty, fanficy glory. Have some merry holidays, y'all.


End file.
